“Me too.”
“We should eat.”
“Mm.” Eric pounced on him, kissing his neck as Kyle dissolved into giggles.
Food could wait a little longer.
Chapter Twenty-One
Two weeks later, Eric was in a rowdy locker room in Buffalo as the Eastern Conference All-Stars got ready for the skills competition. Old friends who were normally opponents were enjoying the rare opportunity to catch up. Other guys were loudly teasing each other. Eric quietly observed everyone.
It was an interesting exercise, bringing all of these rivals together in the middle of the season. Hockey was an emotional sport, and grudges ran deep, but they were all connected by this game that they loved. They were, in a way, all family.
Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander were sitting across from each other, and kept catching each other’s eye and smiling. There was a mutual fondness there that Eric still couldn’t quite believe. They were such famous rivals but, he supposed, they were also human beings who were more than their hockey skills. Obviously they had found things to like about each other and had become good friends.
Dallas Kent was in one corner, talking to another player who Eric didn’t particularly like. Kent’s teammate, Troy Barrett, was sitting in the stall next to Eric, but had been quiet the entire time he’d put his gear on. Now he was engrossed in his phone. Eric had no reason to like the kid, but he decided to attempt to be friendly.
“This is your first All-Star Game, isn’t it?”
Troy looked up, startled. “Yeah. I was supposed to go last year, but I was hurt.”
“I remember. What event are you doing?”
“Fastest skater.”
Eric nodded. “Makes sense. You’ve got some tough competition, though.”
“I don’t think I’ll win. But the other option was to do that fucking stupid obstacle course one and I don’t want to embarrass myself in my first skills competition.”
“Goalies definitely have it easy at these things.”
Troy was only twenty-four years old. He wasn’t a particularly big guy—probably five-nine or so, with minimal bulk. Like Kyle, he had a body built for speed. Unlike Kyle, he had black, glossy hair that kept falling into his piercing blue eyes. Those eyes didn’t look happy right now, and Eric realized he’d never seen Troy look particularly happy. Not that he’d seen a whole lot of him.
“Usually after this thing we all meet up at the hotel bar, or sometimes there are room parties,” Eric said.
“I figured. That would be fun, but...” He frowned at someone across the room, and Eric realized it was Dallas Kent. “Is Hunter going to be there, do you think?”
“Why?” Eric felt a flash of anger. Was Troy such a homophobic prick that he wouldn’t socialize with Scott?
Troy looked at him with wide, sapphire eyes. “Not because—Jesus, I’m not like that, okay? I don’t hate gay people. I just want to, I dunno, talk to him. But he might not want to talk to me. That’s all.”
Eric relaxed. “He’ll talk to you,” he said with certainty. “Scotty’s the nicest guy in the world.”
“Seems like it.”
Eric decided, if he did nothing else useful with this final All-Star weekend, he could at least pass on some advice to this young man. “You know, I’ve been in this league a long time, and I’ve had to play on teams with people I didn’t particularly like. Some of them were even star players. Fortunately, the locker rooms are big, and you can choose the people you want to keep close to you.”
Troy’s brow furrowed, then he looked at the floor. He tugged on his jersey and said, “I’m starting to figure that out.”
Eric attempted a friendly shoulder clap—the kind Scott or Carter would do effortlessly. It landed a little awkwardly, but he hoped the sentiment came through.
Later that night, after the competition was over, a large group of players from both teams were gathered in the hotel bar. Eric was sitting at a small table with Wyatt Hayes—the goalie for Ottawa, and a very funny guy. They were approached by Ilya Rozanov.
“Move, Hazy,” Rozanov ordered. “I need to talk to Bennett.”
Wyatt shook his head but stood up. “No fucking respect for the guy who saves your ass forty times a game.”
Rozanov handed him a ten-dollar bill. “Go buy yourself a beer.”